A Guilty Man
by runraggedycas
Summary: Rory is gone and Amy doesn't remember. The Doctor is guilty, and does as he feels a guilty man should. WARNING; self harm mentioned. Platonic!AmyxEleven


He was off. It had been months since he had slept, even longer since he had eaten a thing and she could hardly remember the last time he _truly_ smiled. He had been throwing her fake grins and false laughs, but she knew him too well to fall for those. There was a sadness in his eyes, the one she had seen when she was a little girl, the one she saw when he came back for her. The only difference was that now, they seemed empty, too.

Amy watched as the Doctor danced around the control panel, trying to work out what was on his mind. Why was he so sad? The ginger woman frowned, trying to think back to when he had begun getting worse. It was around the same time that they had run into the silurian's, but Amy didn't think that anything too bad had happened, besides the silurian's loss at human stupidity.

"So, where to now?" The Doctor asked, glancing over at Amy. Upon noticing her frown, he began to frown himself. "Amy?" He tilted his head to the side slightly before straightening it and walking over to her, crouching beside his best friend. Placing a hand on her knee, he tried again, "Amelia? What's wrong?"

Snapping out of her daydream, Amelia looked towards the Doctor. "Huh? Oh, nothing, sorry. I spaced out."

"You're crying," he pointed out, wiping the tears away with the pad of his thumb. "What's wrong?"

Confused, she stared at the small amount of liquid on his skin. "I don't know. I don't know why I'm crying." The green eyes that she knew so well seemed to get sadder as she spoke, and she instantly felt guilty. "I think there must be something in my eye," she laughed, trying to correct her mistake. "Can you see anything in there?" The Doctor shook his head.

"Nope, must have been a bit of dust or something." It was all his fault. He should have gotten them out while he had the chance. He shouldn't have stayed to investigate. What was that phrase? Curiosity killed the cat? He inwardly scoffed. More like curiosity kills the cats friends. "So, where do you want to go now? Forwards? Backwards? The present?" He paused for a second. "Actually, with a time machine, any time is the present, don't choose that. Forwards is boring, we always go forwards. Let's go back," he grinned falsely.

Amy laughed, "Whatever you want to do."

" _It's your fault. It's all your fault_ ," he whispered, glaring at the man in front of him. He had stupid hair that flopped down into his green eyes, a chin that could knock you out from a mile away and a dumb bowtie around his neck. He clenched his right hand into a fist as he stared into the sad eyes that stared back at him. Raising his fist, he slammed it into the other man's face.

Glass shattered, falling into the small sink below the cupboard, some sticking out of the Doctor's pale hand. Some shards fell onto the white tiled floor, glinting in the harsh light of an uncovered bulb.

The Doctor stared down at his hand for a few moments, debating what to do before gripping one of the shards in his left hand and ripping it from his skin. He made no sound, instead he watched, fascinated as blood began to pool at the surface of his skin. The wound wasn't too deep, a scratch, really, but it was deep enough that it gave him some sense of relief.

The pain he felt was nothing compared to what some of his former companions, _friends_ , must have felt through death. He deserved this. He deserved to feel the pain that he had inflicted on so many...on the 2.47 _billion_ children of Gallifrey, the people who got killed in his company, the people with lives ahead of them, lives _he_ had ruined.

He had lived eleven lives, and he didn't deserve any one of them.

Blood dripped into the sink, staining the porcelain red. He craved more. The relief, the calming sensation that washed over him...he needed more.

The Time Lord backed away from the broken mirror, turning on his heel and heading for the door. He yanked it open, running out into the hall and sprinting down it in the general direction of

his companions' rooms. He needed something.

The corridors seemed to stretch further than usual and the Doctor growled under his breath as he realised what the TARDIS was doing. "Stop it girl," he ordered. It seemed as though the TARDIS hummed sadly before he finally reached the room once belonging to Captain Jack Harkness. His hand hesitated over the button to open the door before he slammed his hand down onto it, watching as it slid open. The sad man paused, sighing sadly before forcing himself onwards.

There was a weird feeling in the Doctor's stomach and he choked back tears as he took in the room. The walls were a plain white and the carpet was beige. There was a double bed pressed into the far left corner of the room, the sheets grey cotton. It was unmade, as though the American man didn't have time to make it before he left.

Beside it was a small night stand that held a lamp, a small book and a glass of water.

The guilt that settled over the Time Lord seemed to encourage him more, make him believe he deserved it more. He had abandoned Jack in his time of need, leaving him alone on Satellite Five, knowing what he had become. In that moment, as the Doctor closed the TARDIS doors and abandoned the ex-con, he knew that he was a coward. That he wasn't the Doctor anymore.

Shaking away the thoughts, the Doctor straightened his bow-tie and stalked across the room, gently pushing the door open.

The bathroom was small, a bath with a shower head pressed across the right-hand side of the room, a sink beside it and then a toilet beside that. On the wall next to the toilet was a cabinet, the doors mirrors.

The Doctor approached it, staring in confusion at the cupboard. How was he supposed to open it? There were no handles. Carefully, not wanting to disturb the room that had once belonged to his friend, he pressed his hands to the glass, giving it a soft shove. The doors popped open and, for a second, the Doctor grinned smugly in victory.

His hands wasted no time, and as soon as it was open, they began to rummage.

The Time Lord had no need to shave, so blades weren't something that he had lying about in his own room. Jack, however, had needed to because despite him being from the 51st century, he was still human.

The Doctor struck oil quickly, finding a small, still sealed, pack of the shiny metal things on the bottom shelf. Among them were other items, shaving cream, deodorant, cologne and a hair comb.

Quickly, he shut the doors back up and practically sprinted into the main room, pausing once again. The Doctor hadn't really been in Jack's room before, and what he saw surprised him. Jack was a flirt, bold and witty, yet his room didn't seem to reflect on his personality at all. The time-traveller wondered if he had really known him at all.

Amelia Pond wondered into the console room, her ginger hair swinging as she hopped down the steps in a pair of dark blue jeans, a white vest and a blue and black plaid shirt. Her eyes were bright, a smile on her face.

"Doctor?" she called, stepping towards the console itself. She placed a finger on the edge, dragging it slowly across the surface as she slowly walked around it. "Doctor, are you in here?"

She got no response.

Frowning, Amy dropped her hand from the TARDIS' control panel and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning her against it instead. The machine hummed in disapproval. "Oh, hush," the Scottish girl said, pushing away and jogging back up the steps. "Doctor? Where are you?"

Again, there was no reply from her bow-tie wearing alien not-as-imaginary-as-everyone-thought friend.

She took a few steps into the hall, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as it fell into her face. Her jade eyes were narrowed in confusion. Surely he hadn't left the TARDIS? He was usually in the console room making repairs or adjustments.

Amy reached a fork in the halls, frowning. She didn't know which direction to go in. Taking a chance, she turned left, stopping when the TARDIS hummed disapprovingly again. In a test, she turned right instead, grinning when the humming took an encouraging turn.

For the next two minutes, the TARDIS guided Amy easily through the halls until the ship made a noise like the one she made during landing. Amelia stopped short in front of a normal looking door, minus the circular design that covered almost the whole of it.

Hesitantly, she knocked.

The TARDIS whined in panic.

Amy pushed the door open and proceeded to push her way into the room, silently hoping that the Doctor would forgive her for the invasion of privacy.

"Doctor?" she whispered, taking in the room. It was rather empty, really. A double bed in the centre of one light grey wall, dark blue sheets and a bare desk to one side. Clothes were scattered around, a bow-tie here and there, the occasional shoe and a...stick of celery?

Amy shook it from her mind, focusing on the task at hand. She walked through the room, stopping when she reached another door. Like she had seconds before, she knocked.

Something inside the room clattered, followed by a large thud and some soft curses.

"Doctor?" she called, worried. It went silent again and Amy took a deep breath before pushing the door open, hoping she wasn't about to catch her best friend in a compromising position. Immediately afterwards, she wished that she had. "Doctor!"

He was sprawled across the floor, staring up at her in shock. There was blood smeared across his cheek and a small puddle in front of him, his wrist laid in it. A shiny silver blade coated in the same red substance sat across the room from him, as though the Time Lord had tossed it away from his being.

Amy felt a sharp pain in her chest and sank to her knees, eyes wide open and mouth opening and closing, unable to form a sentence.

Then, the Doctor sobbed. He sobbed, dropping his head to stare down at his mangled arm, realising what he had done. His body lurched as he cried out again, raising another bloody but non-injured hand to cover his eyes. Whether he did it in shame or to hide the tears, Amy didn't know. It didn't matter; as soon as he made the sound, she too lurched forwards, enveloping the man in a hug while tears rolled down her own cheeks.

Her best friend had been in pain for God-knows how long and she hadn't even known. Hadn't even realised.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, clutching her shirt tight in his fists, pulling her closer to him. "Amelia, I'm so, so sorry."

The redhead held him back, equal in tightness. "No, raggedy man. _I'm_ sorry."

The two of them sat in the Medbay.

Both of them were silent, sat side-by-side on a comfortable hospital style bed, swinging their legs. The silence wasn't awkward, though. It was uncertain.

Amy didn't know what to say. For possibly the first time in her life, Amelia Pond did not know what to say, so she remained silent.

The Doctor didn't want to speak. He was scared, so, _so_ scared that Amy, his Amelia, would reject him now that she knew how screwed up he was. Once he explained, which he expected she'd demand him to, she'd know how much innocent blood on his hands and she'd leave for sure. He knew that he wouldn't be able to handle that.

Eventually, Amy had had enough.

"You could have spoken to me."

To the Doctor's surprise, she didn't sound angry. No. She sounded heartbroken. Her voice cracked a little and out leaked the guilt, grief and sorrow she'd been feeling since she had found him. No traces of anger at all.

"I don't deserve you," he replied.

"Don't," Amy snapped, sounding strained. "Don't ever say that. You mean more to me than anything else in this universe."

The Doctor flinched, knowing that Rory should have come before him. Because of him, though, he was dead and Amy didn't remember him. He had ruined her happiness.

"Stop," the Scott demanded, jumping off the bed. She pointed a finger at the bow-tie wearing Time Lord, waving it slightly. "I can see it in your eyes-you're blaming yourself for something. Stop it, right now. Whatever it is, it isn't your fault, alright?"

"Oh, Amelia," the Doctor whispered, a sad smile on his face. "If only you knew."

Their green eyes met, and with a start, the Doctor watched as tears slid from Amy's.

She took his hands in hers, disconnecting their gaze to look down at his bandaged forearms. A little bit of blood was seeping through and she reached for a new roll of gauze, not so much as pausing. Without looking up, she said, "Promise me."

"Promise you what?"

"Promise me that you'll talk to me." She looked up, now. "Promise me that no matter what, you will never do this to yourself again. Talk to me, instead. Drop in to visit River. Get drunk and embarrass yourself on karaoke. Anything, just promise me that you'll never resort to this again because, honestly, I don't think I could survive without you, Raggedy Man."

"But-"

"No 'buts'," she said firmly, pointing at him with that finger again. Amy let go of his arms, placing her small hands on either side of his face. Then, she pulled him down to her height and pressed a kiss to his head much like he did to her. "Sometimes, even a doctor needs some help, even if he doesn't want to admit it."

"Amelia Pond," he said. Subtext, _I love you_.

"I know," she said.


End file.
